Christmas Gift
by Forge2
Summary: The Doctor arrives in Edgewood to find that the Master has left him a Christmas gift, waiting for him under the tree. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC, Christmas belongs to Jesus, and December 25th belongs to the Pagans. Enjoy and don't forget to read and review.

Christmas Gifts

Welcome to Edgewood, Penn, the sign said. Population 600. The man stopped and read the sign carefully. Behind him, his tracks were imprinted in the fresh snow, a meandering route by the side of the road. He could hear the faint trickle of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. He glanced up and saw a bright light rushing towards him. A car hurried by. There were 5 maybe 6 people inside all singing at the top of their lungs. He watched the car disappear quickly down the road towards Edgewood. He sighed and continued on his way leaving Edgewood behind, hopefully forever. He had only spent the night, one single evening. Christmas Eve, a time of celebration and joy. He chuckled humorlessly. Well not in Edgewood, not anymore. It had started only five hours before, though it seemed like years. Time is a funny business. He should know…

The Sullivan House was on the outskirts of town. Respectable people, the Sullivans. They had moved in almost ten years ago, newly married. A doctor and a writer, they were British but no one held that against them. Everyone loved their girl, little Abigail Sullivan. Seven years old. Now there was police tape on the door and the Sheriff's men were very busy. Dusting for fingerprints snapping photos. Christmas Eve, they should all be home with their families, not…

Larson sighed. He had been sheriff for over a decade now, but he'd never seen anything like this. Mr. And Mrs. Sullivan upstairs in the bedroom, their corpses shrunken and shriveled. Downstairs, under the Christmas tree, Abigail…Larson shivered and his diner threatened to come up, just remembering the sight. It was a perfect crime. The murderer, whoever he was, had come and gone without a trace. Except, of course, for the letter.

"Lars," it was one of the sergeants. "We got a fellow. He just waltzed right into the house like he owned it."

"What?"

"Strange guy, I think he's Scottish or something."

"Be right down." Larson sparred another glance for the Sullivan's. God how he needed a drink. It seemed the night still had a few surprises left. Halle-fricking-luiah!

He was standing by the tree, when Larson came down. The Deputies were watching him suspiciously. Larson moved to join him.

"Sheriff Larson, I presume." He still hadn't turned. Lars thought he could hear the hint of an accent.

"That's right. I have—"

"—a few questions. Yes, I'm sure you do." Lars caught the accent this time, definitely Scottish. The man was shorter then he seemed. The sheriff towered above him. He had laugh lines but he wasn't laughing now. He was staring at Abigail unflinchingly. There was sadness in his eyes, and anger.

"Who are you," Lars asked.

"You may call me the Doctor." No name the sheriff noted.

"Do you always barge into crime scenes, Doctor?"

Something flashed in the Doctor's eyes. "I'm her godfather." He indicated Abigail with a tilt of the head.

"I haven't seen you round here before." There was something off about this Doctor. Not necessarily guilty, just…off.

"No," the Doctor agreed. "You haven't. I've been traveling."

"Where?"

"Here and there." He played with his umbrella silently.

"You're not helping yourself, Doctor."

"No?"

"Give me a straight answer damn it! I have three bodies and right now only one suspect," Larson said pointedly.

"Meaning me." The Doctor's smile was cold. "I'm suspect number one, a title I assume with tedious regularity. I did not do this, sheriff. I want the murderer caught even more then you do."

"Then answer my questions," Larson paused. Something clicked in his mind-the note. "Doctor, do you know anyone called the Master?" The result was immediate.

"What do you know of the Master?" The Doctor looked up now. His gaze fixed fiercely on Larson, almost reading his soul.

"Only what's in the note," Larson answered.

"Note?"

The Doctor read the note quickly, then he read it again, slower, and his eyes flashed.

"Does this Master often send you Christmas gifts?"

"Not for centuries," the Doctor mumbled.

"What?"

"Never mind Sheriff. It's no use trying to find him. He'll be long gone, after all, he got what he came for."

"What's that, Doctor?"

"Pain," the Doctor muttered darkly. "He came for pain."

The Doctor walked slowly down Main Street. He restrained the urge to run away from that house as quick as he could. Christmas lights twinkled merrily from shop windows and Christmas carols hung in the air. In his mind's eye, he saw the Sullivan's compressed to doll sized corpses, and Abigail, her organs ripped out, put in jars and arranged neatly under the tree. He heard a faint mocking chuckle. The Doctor spun around, just in time to see the town Christmas Tree vanish with a wheeze and a groan and gloating laugh.

"Dear Doctor," the note had read. "I would like to wish you a happy Christmas and extend a profound desire that our paths may soon cross. I would have stayed to convey my wishes in person but events…ran away with themselves. Nevertheless, I do hope you enjoy your gift. I thought of you.

Yours in Enmity,

The Master

P.S. She Screamed..."


End file.
